


In the Shadow of Monsters

by Ghost0fWinter



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Justice League: The Flashpoint Paradox
Genre: Demons, Dimension Travel, Father Todd, Flashpoint!Batman, Flashpoint!Jason, Gen, Jason Todd is a Priest, Multiverse, Violence and dark themes, priest!jason
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-10-27 03:50:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10801098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghost0fWinter/pseuds/Ghost0fWinter
Summary: The world ended in fire and blood and with the screams of a thousand innocent souls. Many don't get a second chance to climb back out of the darkness that consumes them when they witness that. Still, he found himself experiencing not just his second chance, but his third. God worked in mysterious ways,  and maybe he was sent here to save this world and make sure it didn't meet the same fate as his.Demons are breaking through the veil that forbids them entry to this world and the darkness they bring with them is all too familiar to Father Todd. Death hangs over Gotham, and teaming up with Batman will either save Gotham and the rest of the world, or doom it.orFather Todd is brought into another dimension with the sole purpose of saving it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this was sparked from my RP canon DC timeline I'm doing with my boyfriend.
> 
> The Flashpoint Universe wasn't wiped away the moment Barry went back in time, nor did it end after the nuclear explosion. 
> 
> Jason was also brought into Prime Earth, if we're going by dimension speak. Canon Earth? Yeah. 
> 
> So, this is a take on Father Todd, an exploration of his character and what could have been during Flashpoint, along with a twist of dimension hopping because for some reason that would still be pretty canon, thanks DC.

Gotham nights were always cold. It was probably due to the fact that they lived by the water, but the breeze always felt like ice on late nights. It had been six months since his arrival, and a part of him still couldn’t quite piece it all together. There was a lot he didn’t understand, a lot he’d rather just leave up to faith and nothing else, but this was one of the things that tugged at his mind when he found himself with nothing to do.

Gotham nights were always cold, even more so when the world was on the brink of an apocalypse. It wasn’t just the Gotham breeze chilling the blood in his veins, but the impending death that was to come; the monsters that lurked in the shadows of the night. There had been no escaping the war. Queen Diana had declared London and the rest of England as New Themyscria, and not long after that King Arthur was decimating the rest of Europe. France, Italy, Spain, Greece and Turkey had all been wiped from the face of the Earth and now laid on the ocean floor with its inhabitants.

A part of him knew that no one would survive this war. Their so called heroes would rather turn tail than help stop two ancient races from destroying themselves and the rest of the world. Batman would much rather chase down a homicidal clown than deal with the chaos in the East. Cyborg was a puppet for the United States Government, and nothing else. All the other heroes had turned in their masks or were dying off. There was no hope in a world controlled by fear, and all he had been able to do was provide faith to the people who were beginning to lose it.

It didn’t help.

What will faith alone do against a nuclear explosion that decimated all of Europe, parts of Africa and China and a section of Russia? The war was over; the explosion had killed both sides, and the heroes that had been fighting overseas. The ash cloud from the explosion covered the entire planet, and the nuclear winter that followed had begun to pick off the rest of the human population.

The world was dying.

The church had become a refuge for many people in Gotham, but the anger--the fear and the hopelessness--was more than anyone could deal with. He had tried to keep up; he had done his best to soothe the worried, to help the sick and dying, to shelter the homeless and feed the hungry. The dead filled the streets, the desperate murdered and ransacked, and without a Batman in Gotham there was nothing left standing between the evil that had hide behind the war to surface. The GCPD was all but gone; deserters mostly, but a majority had died the first month after the explosion. The Batsignal had been left on for weeks, in some vain hope that the Batman would show up to help. He never did.

Some said he died in the blast helping to stop the war. Others said that Batman had turned their backs on them. In the end, it didn’t matter. Batman was gone, and with him the rest of Gotham. Perhaps the rest of the world.

There was something that everyone always seemed to forget, though. The apocalypse was never the end. Everyone is always wrong in their assumptions when they believe that the apocalypse brought the end. The apocalypse was only the beginning; the nuclear explosion in Europe had been the beginning of something much worse. Demons crawled out from the ashes and rubble, destroying what little faith--what little hope--people still had. There had been no stopping them. Everyone that had the power to push them back, to close the gates and restore order to the world, had perished.

He had tried; God knows he had. It had been a group of them, maybe four or five, but it had been enough at first. They repelled the demons and monsters; they fought back with everything they had because they had nothing left to lose. At first they had been successful. They had grown too confidant. The church had been their base of operations, and they should have protected it--and the people they housed--better. But they were found, and they were slaughtered. Their Order went first in an attempt to protect the church and the people, but the demons cut through them in seconds. There had been no home field advantage. They had been trapped inside a slaughterhouse.

They had left him alive; they had bound him in chains and tied him to the cross to watch as they slaughtered the civilians one by one. He had screamed until his throat had gone raw--he had prayed and called for God, for anyone, to stop this. No one came to their rescue. Instead, he was forced to watch as men, women, and children were ripped to shreds and he could do nothing to stop it. And just as they had killed the last infant, the doors of the church flew open and a black mist walked in. It was a shape of a man, but it was all wrong; too long, too tall, misshapen and ever changing. The mist held thousands of eyes and mocking smiles.

It had reached out for him, and then there had been a blinding white light that burned him to the core. For a moment he had thought he had died, but when he opened his eyes again there was nothing but clear skies and stars overhead. He hadn’t seen stars in so long, he thought he had been dreaming, or perhaps he had died and this was heaven. The air was clear, the breeze smelled of sea water, and the stars twinkled overhead.

He thought, perhaps, it was all finally over.

But dreams never last, and his certainly didn’t.

“Father?”

Jason turned his head to look at the young woman that had walked up to him. She was staring at him as if she had been speaking for a couple minutes and he hadn’t heard her. She probably had, and he had been to lost in his own memories to have heard a single word she had said. “Yes, Sister?”

“Everyone’s gone, Father.” She said, lacing her hands in front of her to smooth out her dress. “We can start cleaning up now.”

Jason’s lips tugged into a small smile before he nodded his head. “Thank you, Sister.” He pushed himself up, taking one last look up at the stars, before he was heading back inside the Cathedral. “You and Mary clean the windows while I sweep.”

“Oh, look Father.” Mary smiled wide as she pointed towards the window she had been standing in front of. “They’ve turned the Batsingal on.”

  
Jason took a couple steps forward, watching as the white light shone in the sky. Stars and bats and still dreams couldn’t last.


	2. Chapter 2

“I thought you quit.”

Jim Gordon squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before he was pulling the lit cigarette out from between his lips. He let it drop to the floor, pressing the heel of his shoe over the embers to stomp them out. “It’s a metaphor.” The police Commissioner turned to face the black figure that lurked in the shadows.  It had been too long since they had started doing this song and dance routine, and while he shouldn’t still be taken aback by the things the Batman does, he can’t help but getting startled every time the man all but materialized from thin air. He’s been getting better at it, though. He barely jumped this time.

Batman didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Even through the cowl, he could picture those raised brows; if the shadows didn’t shroud Batman in darkness and all he could see were the glowing whites of his eyes, Jim would be relatively sure of the disbelief on Batman’s face.

“Barbara had me watch the movie with her not too long ago.” Jim said, shoving his hands into his pants to keep them warm. “Anyway, I keep them around as an excuse to step outside now.”

“In order for it to be a metaphor, it’s not suppose to be lit.” Batman said, finally stepping out of the shadows and moving towards the Commissioner.

“Baby steps.” Jim said before he was pulling out a memory drive from his coat pocket and holding it out to the other man. “Did you hear about what happened?”

“I went by the crime scene, but your people had already removed anything of value.” Batman said as he took the drive, connecting it to his gauntlet and letting the files download into the BatComputer.

“Yeah, well, there really wasn’t all that much there to begin with.” Jim was turning his attention back to the city skyline. From up here he could pretend that the world below wasn’t complete shit; that no matter how much they do, Gotham was still barely scraping by. “All that was left of the bodies was basically just an impression of ash on the walls. I would have said it was an explosion but--”

“There were no signs of an explosion, and the only sign of an attack were the charred remains of the body.” Batman was scrolling through the reports and photographs of the crime scene, his lips a tight line. “No sign of a break in, though that doesn’t rule anything out. There was a struggle, though it was concentrated in the living room, and not where the body was found. Blood on the broken vase, but nothing much else.”

“This is the third one this month. No evidence, no witness. We basically had nothing.” Jim turned to look at Batman again, watching as he scrolled through holographic images of the photographs. “We didn’t think much on it, though, until now.”

“What changed?”

“The apartment belonged to a woman named Cynthia Bakers. We thought she had been the victim, but one of my guys found her running through the streets in nothing but a nightgown that was covered in blood. He tried to talk to her and calm her down, but she attacked him. Screaming about demons and how they had killed her boyfriend. She ran head first into traffic. Nothing my guy could do to stop her.” Jim ran his tongue across his bottom lip before reaching into his coat to pull out the box of cigarettes again. He placed one between his lips, though he made no motion to light it. “My bet is Crane, but we won’t know for sure until her blood work comes back.”

“Is that all you have?”

“Yeah, everything else is in the drive I gave you. But, listen Batman, whatever’s going on… there’s more to it than just some hallucinations about demons. If it is Crane, he’s targeting specific people.” There came no response, and after a couple of seconds Jim turned to look at where Batman had been standing. He was gone, which was no surprise.

He really hated when he did that.

 

* * *

  

“Hard at work again, I see.” A cup of coffee was placed down on the table beside him, though Bruce paid no real attention to it. He had visited the last two crime scenes and had come up with nothing of value; all he had to go on were the police records and the recordings from dispatch. “Is this a new case?”

“Mm.” Bruce leaned back against his seat, taking the cup and letting the heat of the ceramic warm his hand. “A case that will quickly become cold at this rate.” The coffee was hot, and while it burned it was exactly what he needed. “Look at this, Alfred.” Clicking on the photographs of the bodies, Bruce enlarged the images so they took up the whole screen. “What do you see?”

Alfred was silent for a couple of minutes, simply staring at the images. There wasn’t much to look at. The first photograph held a normal scene of a study, resembling Bruce’s own. Desk neat and orderly, a laptop closed beside some papers. The only thing wrong with the scene was the impression of a silhouette shaped like a man in the curtains behind the desk.  It was the same instance for the second photograph; a messy and unkept bedroom with only the signs of horror being the silhouette of a woman laying on the bed. The third photograph was perhaps the only one that indicated an attack, though not by much. There was a nightstand tossed on its side, but everything else in the bedroom was neat, with only the silhouette of a man on the wall by the door.

“One would assume these shadow impressions are the victims?” Alfred asked as he folded his hands behind his back. “It’s nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

Bruce grunted in agreement, tapping out of the photographs and expanding them across the screen, bringing up the profiles of each victim. “There’s nothing connecting the victims. They didn’t know each other, they didn’t have the same social circles, they didn’t even attend the same schools. Take the first victim. Charles Baston. A history teacher at Gotham High in his late forties. Divorced with three children, and his worse vice was his gambling addiction. The second victim, Patricia Simmons. She was a dancer at the Kitty Kat Gentlemen’s Club. Third victim, Andrew Flint; a small time drug dealer down by Park Row.”

“Victims of circumstance?” Alfred piped in, taking a second to quickly scan the reports. “Perhaps the murderer picks his victims at random.”

“The likelihood of that being true is rather slim. I don’t believe these were just some random pickings. From a secured and quiet neighborhood that would provide a challenge for someone to break into, to an apartment building where everyone would rather turn a blind eye on things than intervene. These were deliberate, Alfred. They were chosen.”

“But for what, sir?”

“That, Alfred, is what I intend to find out.”

 

* * *

  

There was something wrong in Gotham.

Well, that was an understatement. There was something always wrong in Gotham. It was better to say that on this particular night, there was something twisted in the air. It made the hair in the back of his neck stand up. There wasn’t anything he could particularly pinpoint; it wasn’t like there were monsters flying through the streets of Gotham slaughtering innocent people. He just felt _wrong._ It was a familiar feeling, if he was being honest with himself. Gotham had always been dark and foreboding, but there had ever been once where he had felt this type of darkness.

Jason let out a slow breath, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. It simply wasn’t possible. He was projecting, nothing more. Whenever he remembered his life before this Cathedral, he always had a knot in the pit of his stomach. He was just projecting his loss and his fear into Gotham, and it was projecting back. There was no darkness, no evil, that was coming to threaten them.

The Cathedral was quiet, much like it always was during this time of night. All the Sisters were asleep, and he should be heading to bed soon, but he was restless. He was taking his time cleaning, and in truth everything was already clean. He had mopped the floors and dusted the shelves at least twice. He didn’t know why he was suddenly so anxious, but he couldn’t calm his mind enough to actually sleep.

There was a bang on the door,  like someone had just ran into it, before they began to quickly knock against the heavy wood. “Father? Are you in there?”

Jason was quickly moving towards the door and grabbing the keys from his pocket, unlocking the door and pulling them open. A young girl was standing outside, tugging on her coat in an attempt to stay warm. Thunder roared behind her; any second now a storm would roll in. “Kristina? What are you doing here at this late hour?” Jason asked as he pulled the door open wider, letting the girl inside. “Come in, it’s freezing out there.”

Kristina rubbed her arms slowly as she took a couple of steps inside the Cathedral, then moved over to the benches and took a seat. “I’m sorry to be bothering you, Father, I just…” Her voice cracked and she pressed a hand to her mouth in an attempt to muffle her sob. “I’m sorry--”

Jason was closing the doors once more to make sure the cold air didn’t come in, then he was making his way over towards Kristina. She was a regular in his congregation; her and her sister were here every Sunday without fail. He knelt in front of her, brushing a strand of her dark auburn hair away from her eyes. “Kristina, what’s the matter? What happened?”

“It’s Cynthia…” Kristina too a deep breath, trying her best to compose herself but finding it difficult to do so. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying, and it took a lot out of her to form sentences that could be understood. “Sh… She’s dead--”

Jason stared at her for a moment before he was moving to sit beside her on the bench. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, rubbing her arm slowly and frowning deeply. “What happened?”

“I-I don’t know!” She gasped, all but curling herself up into a tight ball. “S-She called me earlier today. She was going to confront Andrew about him cheating on her again.  I told her she should just leave him, that he was no good for her, but she never listens-- _listened_!” Jason gave her as much time as she needed, watching as she rubbed at her eyes in an attempt to wipe the tears away. “T-The next thing I know, I’m getting a call from the police saying she committed suicide!”

Kristina turned to look at Jason; the agony in her face was heartbreaking. Cynthia had been such a wonderful woman. She had made a lot of bad choices in regards on who she let in, but she was brilliant. “Kristina--”

“No! My sister would never do that, Father! You know her! She--She wouldn’t! It had to be Andrew’s fault! He killed her! He killed Cynthia! God--” Her voice broke and she was burying her face in her hands again, leaning against Jason as if all the energy in her body had simply vanished. Jason placed a hand on her shoulder once more, drawing her closer and letting her cry against his chest.

Perhaps this was what he had felt. The bad, angry knot in the pit of his stomach had been a warning. Someone from his congregation had passed; she had been taken away from them before her time. He spoke with Kristina for about an hour, doing his best to calm her. She had been hysterical for the first fifteen minutes, but after that she simply seemed lost. Kristina was now kneeling in front of the altar, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She was muttering to herself, but Jason wasn’t going to strain to hear her.

She had suffered enough tonight, invading her private words to God was something he wouldn’t do.

Jason moved towards the row of candles by the altar. Most of them were dark, and only two were lit. It pained him to have to light another. He grabbed a match from the place holder and lit one of the candles nearest to where he was. His hand lingered on the flame, feeling the heat of the fire for a fraction of a second before he was drawing his hand away.

“Thank you, Father.” Kristina said as she pushed herself up, brushing her hands down her knees. Her face was red and her makeup was smeared, but she was holding herself together better than most people would. “Thank you for staying with me… for talking to me.”

Jason set the matches down and moved over towards Kristina. He cupped her face gently in his hands and wiped her tears away. “Kristina, I am terribly sorry for what happened. If there is anything you need, I will be here for you. Every step of the way.”

“Thank you, Father.” Kristina said again, wrapping her arms around Jason for a quick hug, then pulling away. “Thank you. I should be heading home.”

“I’ll walk you out and wait with you while your taxi arrives.” He placed a hand on her back as he lead her back towards the door, pulling it open for her once more. It smelled like rain, but for now the storm hadn’t begun. He lead her down the steps, then sat with her on the last one as they waited.

Gotham nights were always cold, but tonight it seemed colder than most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try to update this either biweekly or weekly, depending on what I'm doing. 
> 
> I'm really excited about this story, and there's a lot I want to do with it. I really hope you guys stick around to enjoy the ride with me.


	3. Chapter 3

Gotham had a sort of gravity that not a lot of people could escape, and he knew that more than most. He was an accountant in some small time firm that was so unimportant that he was pretty sure they were going to shut down by the end of the year. He was hoping that by then he would have found something else and had moved on to bigger and better things, but the likelihood of that happening was slim to none, and he had never really been an optimist.

Gotham had a sort of gravity that only a few could escape; the few being the rich and wealthy like Bruce Wayne. Those that were stuck in the bottom? They didn’t stand a chance. They could try and climb their way out, try and push against the gravity, but they would fall and be crushed under it no matter how hard they worked or how much they struggled.

And he really hated that.

“Honey, dinner’s almost ready. Are you going to shower first?”

“Yeah.” Joseph was standing up from the dining room table, shoving all the papers he had spread out when he got home inside his suitcase and setting it to the side of his chair. He moved over to the woman standing in the middle of the kitchen, watching as she tied her hair back and rubbed the back of her neck. Eleanor was always so hard working, and she always came home to care for him and the kids; made them all dinner and made sure the house was clean. That’s why he was doing this.

He did everything for them, so they wouldn’t have to struggle anymore.

Joseph took a couple steps forward and pressed a soft kiss to the side of her head, smiling down at her before he was heading back up the stairs and towards the bathroom. The kids were all in their rooms, either playing video games or doing their homework or talking to some boy on the phone. Right now he didn’t really care. He pushed the door open, easing it closed behind him. He knew what he was doing was bad, and he knew he was bound to get caught, but he was careful. He knew how to cover his tracks. He’d be fine.

They’d be fine.

His shower was quick, mostly because he couldn’t afford to use up all the hot water, but also because he couldn’t really calm himself down to enjoy it.

“Honey! Kids! Dinner’s ready!”

Joseph gave a glance towards the door before he was grabbing the towel and beginning to dry off. He heard the running footsteps down the hall and down the stairs, heard their laughter as they thanked their mother. It brought a smile to his face. He leaned over the sink, one hand holding the towel around his waist as the other wiped the surface of the mirror clean. He had expected to see a tired expression staring back at him, but what he saw was two red eyes staring at him from the shadows in the corner of the room.

He was dropping the towel as he spun around, though he didn’t get half way before something was grabbing the back of his head and slamming his face into the mirror. The glass cracked and shattered, digging into his skin, but he didn’t even register the pain. He was so focused on those red eyes staring back at him from the broken mirror. “W-Wha--”

_“Cupiditas.”_ The voice sounded like fire crackling wood in half in a fire pit. It was rough and scratchy and crackled between syllables. _“_ _Vos ipsi sunt electi_ _, Joseph Sullivan.”_

“W-What are you talkin’ about!” Joseph cried out, only to feel the hand on the back of his head push his face deeper into the mirror. A strained cry left him, and he was sure that he was bleeding all over the place. “I-I don’t understand--”

“Honey, is everything okay?” Eleanor’s voice came from behind the door. “I heard a crash. Are you alright?”

_“It is time for you to pay for your sins, Joseph, and pave the way for the Gate to open.”_ It was whispering it into his ear, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. All he knew was fire and smoke. But Eleanor was in danger, the kids--

“Ellen, please g-go back downstairs! Stay with the kids!” Joseph was gasping out the words, choking on smoke that wasn’t even there. “Sta--” His words were torn from his throat by a violent scream as the monster behind him set him on fire; or at least, that’s what it felt like. It felt like fire had been ignited in his blood and he was burning from the inside out. His flesh bubbled and burned and melted and he could feel every muscle and organ inside his body doing the same.

Through his own screams he could hear the way Eleanor was yelling, banging on the door, begging for him to open up. He could hear his kids rushing up the stairs, asking what was wrong. He could hear the laughter from the monster that was killing him, and he screamed until he couldn’t scream anymore.

 

* * *

 “Same as the others?”

“Yes, sir.” The officer paused for a moment before he was glancing back at Gordon. The scene was disturbing enough as it is, but listening to the echoes of hysteria from the wife and children down stairs made the knot in his stomach tighten. “The wife says that she had just finished making dinner when she heard the commotion upstairs. The door had been locked when she came to check on him. The eldest kid, the boy--I think his name was Jonathan--was the one that kicked in the door.”

Gordon turned to look at the officer, narrowing his eyes a bit. “And? What else?” He really wanted a cigarette, but if Barbara caught him smelling like nicotine she’d have his ass mounted to the wall.

Again.

“Um…” The officer looked down at his notepad, tapping the ends of the page a couple times with his fingers. “She said a smoke creature was holding him when they opened the door. That it looked at them and smiled before… uh… burning her husband alive.”

“Smoke creature?” Gordon grunted a bit. He really needed that cigarette now. “Because we didn’t have enough to deal with already. Gotham.” Sighing, he was turning his attention back towards the ash imprint of the late Joseph Sullivan. The broken mirror and blood were the only indications of there being any type of struggle, in the most relative term of the word. “Finish up here, then get everything back to the lab. I want this sample compared to the others.”

“Yes, sir!”

In truth, he wasn’t sure what they’d find. In every other crime scene there had been nothing to find, let alone to compare; nothing left behind but the ashes of the victim, and in Cynthia’s case, a suicide. There was nothing connecting these victims to each other or to a motive. He wouldn’t even have connected the bodies had they not all died the same way. He’d need to make a statement soon.

He just hoped that Batman was having better luck.

 

* * *

“We are definitely not having any luck in this.” Dick was leaning against the back of the leather chair Bruce was currently sitting on, head propped against his palm as he read over Bruce’s notes.

“I told you I don’t need your help.”

“Your objection was noted and filed away to be ignored further on a later date. Besides, two pairs of eyes can catch a lot more than just one.” Dick was reaching towards the two mugs of coffee that Alfred had left for them, taking the one with the Nightwing symbol on it, and taking a sip. Just the right amount of four spoonfuls of sugar and milk, just like he liked it. Thanks Alfred.

“Hm.” Bruce grunted, paying no attention to Dick’s actions, and only really half listening to him. He knew the man wouldn’t leave, even if he told him to a million times. “The computer is running an analysis of the compound I found in the ashes, but for right now, I’m still trying to connect the motive behind it. There’s nothing connecting these victims together.”

“Maybe there _isn’t_ a motive?” Dick was giving Bruce a little shrug. “Just a really bad case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time and getting caught up in a big bad net of… bad.”

Bruce was giving Dick another grunt, just to give him some type of acknowledgment that he was listening. Things were never coincidence. “That’s highly doubtful. When is it ever just a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time?” It wasn’t really a question, and he didn’t expect an answer, so he continued. “No, there’s more to this than just random pickings.” With this latest murder that chucked up the count to five victims; five too many.

Dick could tell how frustrated Bruce was over this, and he didn’t blame him. This was a particularly nasty case. They hadn’t had this type of nasty in a while in Gotham. They were spoiled with none nasty related crimes. “Born in the same year, maybe? Used to live in the same house, had the same favorite pizza joint? Hell, maybe they all went to the same church together, there’s gotta be something we’re overlooking. It’s always the _little_ details that are the most annoying to piece together.”

There was a moment of hesitation, a moment where Bruce was caught thinking too many things too fast, before he was quickly pulling up a map of Gotham, and quickly dropped pins of the locations of each crime scene. There were five in total. Bruce narrowed his eyes a bit at the map, taking his time to take in the locations before he was connecting each one by order of occurrence. “What shape does that look like to you?”

“I appreciate the patronization. That definitely would explain the whole demon thing. Some sort of cultist ritual, maybe?”

“Perhaps,” The pentagram spanned the lower east side of Gotham, and right in the middle was Cathedral Square. Each murder occurred around a five mile radius of the Cathedral. That couldn’t be a coincidence. “But for right now, that’s our only lead.”

“Are you going to let me ride shotgun or am I going to have to follow via rooftop and grapple line?” Dick was smirking behind his mug, though the question was valid enough. Bruce had a tendency of ditching him whenever he could. It was a little insulting, to be honest.

“Don’t you have other things to do?” Bruce glanced back at Dick for the first time during the whole conversation.

“I offer you a helping hand and all you do is continue to try and get rid of me. Ouch. I’m hurt.” Dick placed a hand over his chest for dramatic emphasis of just how hurt he was. “C’mon, B. You’d be better off going into this one with someone watching your back. Or… Watching your cape. Either way.”

“Hm.” Bruce was glancing back at the screen, watching as the computer ran tests on the samples he had brought back. He was standing, taking a step away from the computer and glancing towards Alfred, who had just made his way into the Cave. “Alfred, I need you to keep an eye on the computer and tell me when the tests are done as soon as they finish.”

“Of course, sir. It’s not like I have anything better to do.” Alfred glanced over at Dick. “Will Master Dick be joining you in tonight’s adventures?”

Bruce was silent for a moment before he was making his way towards the Batmobile. He pulled his cowl up, letting it click and slide into place. “Hurry up, or I’m leaving without you.”

“Woah, hey!” Dick was grinning, setting his mug down and quickly following after Bruce. “I get an actual warning this time before he just jumps into the car, can you believe it, Alf? It’s a Christmas miracle during definitely not Christmas.” He waved back at Alfred as he passed him, doing a rather unnecessary cartwheel over to the car and using the impulse to land his hands on the hood and vault himself over and into the car. “See ya later, Alfred. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he gets back in mostly one piece.”

“Oh, my worries have been calmed, thank you Master Dick.” Alfred said as he watched the car close and the platform turn to face the exit. “Do be careful, the both of you.” The engine drowned out the rest of what he had to say, and before he could even think of repeating himself, the car was driving up the ramp and out of the cave.

 

* * *

 

There was a storm rolling in, and Jason wasn’t sure if it was the thunder that was making him uneasy or maybe something in the wind. He felt it, in the pit of his stomach. Something was wrong. It wasn’t the common Gotham wrong, either. It was something worse. Far worse. It felt all too familiar, but he had to be overthinking things; he was paranoid, nothing more.

Right?

“Father, will you be alright here?” Mary’s voice broke him out of the trance he had been in. He turned to look at her, a small smile on his lips.

“I’ll be fine, Mary. I promise. I’m just finishing some last minute preparations for Cynthia’s funeral.” He saw her frown, and he understood her sadness all too well. It had been a terrible tragedy what happened to Cynthia. She had been such a good girl with such a bright future.

“It’s just not right, Father.”

“I know, Mary. I know. There’s evil in this world, and sometimes it will taint those with the purest hearts. Cynthia is with her Father now, and he mourns her just as much as we do, for it wasn’t her time.” Jason placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “Try and get some rest, Sister. This week will be a long one, and I suspect that it’s just getting started.”

Mary sighed softly before she was nodding her head. “Goodnight, Father.” He watched as she left his office, and still he didn’t tear his gaze away from the door until he could no longer hear the soft tapping of her shoes on the stone floor. Once he was sure she was gone, Jason was standing and making his way towards the back of his office where a replica of Michelangelo's Creation of Adam was hung up. He skimmed his finger along the golden frame, feeling the bumps in the texture before he found the one he was looking for. Pressing down, the wall clicked and the painting was sliding back and away from the frame; it disappeared down into the floor, revealing shelves full of different types of guns and customized grenades that he had built little by little as he settled into the Cathedral.  

It had been a long time since he held one in his hands, but it was a lot like riding a bicycle. The weight of the gun felt right in his hand. He was quick to do a full check of the handgun; he released the magazine and stared down at the custom bullets, sliding it back into the gun and cocking it. It had been far too long since he had any need of using this, and if the feeling in the pit of his gut told him anything, it was that he’d be using this sooner rather than later.

Jason was quick to tie the holsters to his thigh, thankful that his robes covered them. He slipped a gun into each holster after doing his check up, then grabbed a rosary that had belonged to a dear friend of his that had perished when the church had been attacked almost a year back in his own timeline. He had kept it, mostly because it was a token of their faith, and also because of the power it held.

Was he being paranoid?

Possibly.

But if he had been dragged across universes, what was to say that _they_ wouldn’t follow? After everything that he had done to destroy them, he doubted that He’d be content with his disappearance. No. If he knew Him at all, Jason knew that He’d find a way to follow and finish what he had started. He wouldn’t allow it. Not again. He’d protect this world and these people from Him, even if it cost him his life.

After making sure the painting slid back into place, Jason was locking up his office and making his usual rounds. The Sisters had left almost a half hour ago, and the storm had only picked up. Lightning lit up the courtyard outside, and for a moment he could have sworn he saw a figure standing by one of the windows. The next second it was gone. It wasn’t his imagination anymore, he knew that now. He could feel the dark energy surrounding the Cathedral. It was the same sort of darkness that he had felt half a lifetime ago in another place.

It was duller, though, so he was sure that this was just the first wave; the underlings.

Jason was moving over towards the altar, kneeling down on the steps and folding his hands together. He used to never pray as a child. His parents had never been the religious sort, though his mother always worn a cross. He stepped foot in a church maybe once or twice as a kid before he had become an orphan, and then after that he saw no reason to go back. God had never once helped him, so why should he have faith in someone that had never answered any of his prayers? He had asked for his mother’s health, for her safety, and instead he had found her cold corpse in the bathroom. It took a lot to get to where he was; the journey had been a blur of pain and pleasure--of highs and lows. Death had opened his eyes to a world he had never thought he’d believe in. Faith had given him the tools to survive it. Without faith he would've have ended up right back on the streets, making the same bad decisions that had led to his death the first time. 

So long as the sanctuary of the church remained whole, there was no possible way for the demons to get inside. He’d have to deal with them at some point, but for right now they simply lingered at the edge of the grounds, hiding in the shadows.

Jason was pushing himself up, brushing his hands down the front of his robes when the next flash of lightning cast a large shadow of a bat by one of the windows. He was quick to turn, just in time to see the window explode as large black wings protected the man beneath the cape. He landed hard on the ground, slowly rising to his full height. Batman’s cowl was slightly torn on one side, his neck bleeding from claw marks. There was smoke in his hands, cinders lightly falling through his fingertips. The smoke collected on the ground, swirling and moving away from the Bat, into the shadows--and _laughed_.

“God help us, what have you _done_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a lot longer than I expected it to, mostly because life has not been dealing me a good hand at the moment so I've been writing what I could in my spare time. 
> 
> Also, all of Dick's dialogue was provided by my boyfriend, because again this is based off our RP canon and he's a wonderful Dick. 
> 
> I'm going to try and maintain an updating schedule as much as I can, but sometimes I'll be a bit slow. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


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